by David Wise
And so he judged, and judged harshly, as harshly as the desert he once called his home, as commanded by tradition and his ancient tomes. A thief would lose a hand for her crime. A gossip would sacrifice his tongue as payment, and a snoop his eye or ear. And those who lost these organs would live still as symbols of the vizier's wisdom and the nature of the law. And the people would nod at his judgment and watch his ordered punishments, and then, cold-eyed and cautious, return to their homes. They became wealthy, but it was a cold wealth built on cold law, harshly enforced. Brothers shrank from warm greetings and strangers in the coffee houses eyed each other suspiciously, for none knew who would next fall victim to the judgment of abd-al-Mamat.
Now this would make a suitable ending for this tale, to simply say it has been such from that day to this. You have heard of a youth who remained unhappy even after becoming the head of the feast, and of a people who sacrificed their freedom for the leadership of one man. All gained what they desired, and all were punished for it. It makes it a suitable tale, but I fear it is not to be. There is more, and it deals with matters of the heart.
On the day after midsummer's eve, two mule-bound riders swayed into the city, leading a caravan of twenty camels heavily laden with carpets and casks of sweetsmelling oil. The man was tall and noble and had the look of one who had been touched by genie's blood, for his glance was penetrating and his smile (yes, he smiled, even at those he did not know!)was brilliant and sharp.
Yet his comely appearance was outshone by the appearance of his companion, a maiden whose face glowed with the beauty of the moon and whose eyes swirled and eddied with azure storms. She was bedecked in simple white robes and kept her face behind a demure veil, yet she wore her garb with the stature of a queen.
Abd-al-Mamat saw the maiden from his window and was immediately smitten with her beauty. His heart (which some would think had hardened to a dull, inert lump by this time)leapt to his throat and pulsed there, sending a warmth through his entire being. He judged the maiden to be the most lovely creature he had ever seen, and vowed to win her as his bride.
Abd-al-Mamat sent a messenger to the merchant, bringing honeyed words of welcome and promises of great reward and trade. The messenger also inquired, discreetly, very discreetly, as to the maiden's relationship to the merchant. And the messenger carried out his mission and returned with a long face and a heavy heart: the maiden was to be the merchant's bride, and the two were very close. The merchant laughed at the suggestion that it might be otherwise.
And so Abd-al-Mamat sent a second messenger, this one bearing a chest filled with the finest gems and rarest pearls, to be laid at the merchant's feet in exchange for the maiden. This messenger too returned with a long face and a heavy heart. The merchant would not consider such a trade, and laughed at the suggestion that it might be otherwise.
And so Abd-al-Mamat sent a third messenger to the merchant, this one bearing a metal box. And in this box were the heavy hearts of the two earlier messengers. This third messenger was told to make no demand, but to merely show the box's contents to the merchant and wait for his response. This merchant too returned with a long face and a heavy heart, for the merchant looked into the box, and shook his head. He did not laugh and neither did he offer the maiden.
There was no fourth messenger. Instead, abd-al-Mamat's guards arrested the merchant and dragged him before the vizier for judgment. An old man, toothless and blind, accused the merchant of stealing an apple from his stand. The merchant laughed, though it was a wary laugh, and denied knowing of the apple, the old man, or the theft. Abd-al-Mamat listened and then made his judgment, quickly. He found the merchant guilty of theft and dictated that he must be punished according to the harsh rules of the desert. The merchant did not laugh at all now, but merely said," If this is to be my Fate, so be it."
And the merchant was taken to the central square, and his left hand was chopped off, as befits the punishment of a thief. And the stump was burned and bound and the merchant sent back to his dwelling with the Hope that both he and others had learned from his example.
That evening the third messenger appeared again with a metal box. And in that box was the hand severed earlier in the day. The messenger made no demands, but reported back to his liege that the merchant still refused to abandon his claim to the maiden. But the merchant no longer laughed.
And so abd-al-Mamat's guards arrived at the merchant's dwelling again and arrested him and brought the young man before the vizier for judgment. An old woman, deaf and weak of limb, accused the merchant of gossip, of spreading foul rumors about her and her husband. The merchant did not laugh, but denied knowing of the old woman, her husband, or the gossip.
Abd-al-Mamat listened and then made his judgment, quickly. He found the merchant guilty of gossip and dictated that he must be punished according to the harsh rules of the desert. The merchant did not laugh, but merely said," If this is to be my Fate, so be it."
And the merchant was taken to the central square and the tongs and the awl and the curve-bladed knife were brought out, and his tongue was severed from its roots. And after the fleshy stump remaining was burned and bandaged, the merchant was sent back to his quarters with the hope that both he and others had learned from his example.
That evening the third messenger reappeared with the metal box, and in that box was the severed tongue. The messenger reported back to his liege that the merchant still refused to abandon his claim to the maiden.
And so once more abd-al-Mamat's guards came to the merchant's dwelling and arrested him and brought the young man before the vizier for judgment. This time the vizier himself was the accuser. The vizier noted that the merchant was maimed and lacked a tongue, and as such could no longer carry out the simple requirements of trade and barter. Yet he still intended to wed his maiden. To condemn such a beauty to apparent poverty, the vizier said, was the mark of a heartless man.
And the merchant said nothing in his defense, (for he had no tongue), and the vizier came to his judgment, quickly.
The merchant was taken to the central square before the great Hall of Judgment. And there abd-al-Mamat himself removed the heart of the man he found heartless, both as a punishment and an example to others. And if the people were shocked as their solemn leader held his bloody trophy aloft, none spoke out against it.
Abd-al-Mamat repaired to his hall and remained there, thinking, through the night. In the morning, he declared that the merchant's belongings had been abandoned by the departed merchant, and by the harsh law of the land were now the property of the vizier. Said belongings included the carpets, casks, and camels. . and the maiden.
Even with the laws against gossip, the news of this announcement spread quickly through the town, and by the time the vizier's guards arrived to claim the maiden, she was gone. Some idle voices said she was seen climbing the last spur of the Lost Mountains, and so it was that she was seen there as the last rays of the sun faded from the sky. And she spread her arms wide and leapt from that summit, a black mote streaking against the blood-red sun.
She never struck the ground.
Some said (quietly) that she was blown aloft by wind; others (more quietly) that she had been seized by a great djinn; still others (quieter still) that she herself transformed into a creature of the air and vanished; a few (the most quiet of all) that both she and the merchant were touched by genie blood, and as such neither could truly be killed.
And here is another possible end of the story, for both the young lovers had gone on to greater rewards, and abd-al-Mamat was left cold-hearted and alone, his frozen spirit broken in the face of a greater bond of love. But, alas, that is not the end of the tale.
Abd-al-Mamat brooded for seven nights and a night, neither speaking nor eating. At the end of that time, he resumed his judgments of his people, and he was harsher than ever. The guards who had arrested the merchant were beheaded for not arresting the merchant when he entered the city. The gossips who warned the maiden of the guards'approach had the
ir lips sewn together in tight stitches and as such starved. The third messenger was accused of stealing the vizier's words, and so lost only a hand, as I have lost mine.
The judgments did not stop there, for abd-al-Mamat's eyes and ears were everywhere. And wherever abd-al-Mamat looked, he judged, and wherever he judged, he found the people wanting, and issued his punishments accordingly. Soon the city was filled with the blinded, the tongueless, the orphaned, and the lame, such that those who were whole were viewed with suspicion and soon found themselves under judgment as well.
So it went for a year, and the city of abd-al-Mamat became known as the Wounded City and was shunned by travelers and caravans. And there were none within the city who were whole, for all had been found guilty in some manner or another, and punished as an example to all. None within the city, save the great and wise vizier, abd-al-Mamat.
So it was on the dawn of the day after midsummer's eve. The first warning on that day was a darkening of the sky from the north, a direction from which no storms normally came. The darkness rose as a obelisk of azure smoke, and as it drove down on the city, there was a low, metallic buzzing, as if it were made of mechanical insects. And as the storm broke over the walls of the city, the people saw that the wind carried not insects, but swords — great scimitars and daggers, cutlasses and tenwars and all manner of blades, which sliced apart everything in their way.
The city gates turned to dust in an instant before this sharp-toothed onslaught. The steel wind cut down those of the vizier's guards who stood and fought, and pulled those who attempted to flee into the streets, slashing them quickly to ribbons. The storm of whirling blades surged into the central court of the city, and up the steps, reducing the marble facade of the Hall of Judgment into mere motes of stone. There was silence for a moment, then the buzzing resumed as the unearthly wind pulled abd-al-Mamat into the central court.
The whirlwind passed over the vizier time and again, and with each passing collected a bloody trophy at the end of one blade. Abd-al-Mamat raised a hand to ward off the blow and had it severed at the wrist. He raised his other hand and lost it as well. Then the arms, the legs, and the features of his face — lips, ears, nose, eyebrows, and eyelids. Great strips of meat were pulled from his torso, and the vitals of his body were gutted by the great steel wind as well.
Yet abd-al-Mamat lived through his punishment and screamed for help from his guards, from his people, and from Fate. But no one answered, and he screamed until the means for him to scream were finally ripped from his ragged form.
At last all that was left was the skull of abd-al-Mamat, its lidless eyes still sharp, alive and silent within their bony housing. Then the steel wind carried off the remains of abd-al-Mamat, still twitching and alive. The wind of swords retreated into the desert and was never seen again.
And this, too, would be another suitable end for the tale, for the vizier of judgment was himself judged, they say, and found wanting, and punished by the harsh ways of the desert, and one could claim that the balance of good and evil was restored.
But alas! Such is not to be, for there is still more.
The time since the vizier's iron rule has not been kind to the people of abd-al-Mamat. Malbus, the ram-horned abomination, began to hunt the people again as animals, dragging them back to his Burning Citadel for his dark amusements. The Sand Singers lured off their men and women to nameless deaths. And the jackal-headed priests of the Rotting Gods struck at will, claiming the eyes of their captives. The people were leaderless and alone.
And, with none to rule it well, the city of Abd-al-Mamat fell apart. The walls crumbled and the fountains ran dry. The Hall of Judgment became a mere shell, housing those who would not leave the grandeur of their forefathers. And of the vizier's throne of tortoise shell and agate and chalcedony, there was no remnant left.
Many of those left would recall the harsh time of abd-al-Mamat and remember them as good days, at least for those who obeyed and knew the law. The fact that those recalling this were often maimed by that law was forgotten. And as time passed, these wounded remnants disappeared, leaving behind only tales and the empty shell of his castle as his testaments. So it was for a hundred years.
Then one of the sons of the sons of the sons of the vizier's followers found the first piece, there at the base of the last spur of the Lost Mountains, on the day after midsummer's eve. It was a left hand, still bloody and living as if newly severed from a thiefs arm. The hand twitched and bled, yet it did not die, and the son of the son of the son of the vizier's follower thought it a miraculous occurrence. In his home, which was in the ruined Hall of Judgment, he made a small shrine for the bleeding hand.
The next year, at the same time and place, a lower left arm appeared, also bloody and alive, as if newly severed from a human. The son of the son of the son of the vizier's follower found it and brought it to the shrine as well. The hand and arm fitted together without a seam showing and could not be pulled apart, such that they became one part. The united hand and arm were kept in the Hall of Judgment as well, and people began to return to the city to visit the shrine and view this curiosity.
Then another piece appeared in the next year, and another in the third, always a new part that seemed recently severed from its host, and always on the day after midsummer's eve. An elbow, an upper arm, a bit of shoulder, the muscles of the neck, and so on. The son of the son of the son of the vizier's follower waited for each piece and fitted the living pieces together. And the collected pieces clung to each other as if they were one, and thrived.
And word spread among the other descendants of abd-al-Mamat's followers: the sons of the sons of the sons and the daughters of the daughters of the daughters, who knew of abd-al-Mamat only from their maimed great-grandparents sighing about a past golden age. The vizier was slowly being returned to his people.
Here we come at last to the end of my tale. It is an ending only in that this is all that has occurred so far. It is said that today the body is almost complete. It is said that only the skull, with its naked, screaming eyes, is missing. And when this last item is restored, the vizier will return fully to lead his people.
And the judgments of abd-al-Mamat will begin anew.
The Rigor of the Game
The game brought Oliver Arkwright to walk the harrowing roads of Sithicus, just as it had propelled him on other foolish journeys throughout his twenty-odd years as a gambler. To anyone who bothered asking, Oliver bluntly cited greed as his only motivation for such risky ventures. He knew better. The money purchased food and shelter and sometimes even companionship, but he'd realized years ago that he pursued a sharp's life solely for the thrill of tempting fate.
And he'd tempted it sorely on this trip. Since crossing the border from Gundarak three days past, Oliver had seen snakes as long as boar spears and slavering wolves with eyes that glowed like embers, even in the moonless murk of the Sithican night. He dispatched these threats as he did most living obstacles that stood between him and a game — mercilessly, with a lightningquick flash of his falchion. But there were other things in the darkness as well, ghostly things that groaned and shrieked like the damned. Oliver suspected his sword would avail him little against such phantasms. Fortunately, the keenness of the gambler's curved blade was more than evenly matched by the keenness of his wits; he managed to elude the wailing creatures and even catch a few hours'sleep in dry gullies along the roadside.
Now, at last, he stood on the weatherworn threshold of his destination. It was a wayside inn very much like the myriad wayside inns Oliver had frequented in other, equally gloomy lands. The hulking two-story box slouched at the side of the road in the middle of nowhere, as if it had been traveling to someplace where it might share the company of other buildings, but lacked the resolve to finish the trek. And so it huddled on the forest's verge, defeated and forlorn. Only the inn's sign remained defiant. The miniature armor-clad knight affixed to the board clasped an embossed shield in one hand. In the other he clutched a long sword
at the sky, ready to smite the very sun.
Oliver spared the knight the briefest of glances before he smiled with anticipation and strode to the door. The fatigue born of the past three days disappeared suddenly. In its place crackled a frisson of excitement.
That excitement dimmed only a little when Oliver discovered the door barred resolutely against him. When his first knock went unanswered, an uncomfortable dread began creeping up his spine. Had he come to the wrong place? He stepped back and again surveyed the sign. The knight's slate-gray armor and the badge embossed on his shield rekindled the sharp's hope — no, this was definitely the Iron Warden. And for all its forlorn appearance, the place wasn't deserted; eight tethered horses grazed to one side, and smoke curled languidly from the chimney.
His falchion drawn, Oliver closed on the portal once more. "Unless you want me to hack it down, you'd best unbar this door immediately!" He broke the answering silence by rapping on the wood with his sword's ornate pommel.
The stout door opened soundlessly on well-oiled hinges, and a large, bulbous head peered around the jamb. It was not nearly so silent as the door. "Bugger off!"
Oliver retreated a step. The bouncer's head was huge, at least twice the size of a normal man's. His mouth was a yawning, scraggle-toothed cavern, his bloodshot eyes two angry dagger slashes beneath a fiercely creased brow.
Brushing aside his initial surprise, Oliver adopted a practiced facade of road-weary impatience. "I was told a game is being played here. High stakes. One afternoon only."
The bouncer's expression remained fierce. "So? "
"So I'm here to play. "A smirk crept across Oliver's lips. "Actually, I'm here to win."
With a flourish, the sharp swept back his travelstained cloak and sheathed his blade. He then took up the small leather purse hanging at his belt. "There's an entry fee, I suppose," he said, extracting a silver coin. "Is this enough? "